


Dean Winchester Doesn't Pine

by fromthefiresofhell



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Christmas, Christmas Tree Farmer Castiel, Cliffhanger, Destiel Advent Calendar, Destiel Advent Calendar 2014, F/F, F/M, Human Castiel, I'm so conflicted, Modern AU, Not really sure what kind of AU this is?, Regular AU, Sexy times in Part Two, Writer Dean Winchester, i guess?, part one, part one of two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-01 13:30:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2774777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthefiresofhell/pseuds/fromthefiresofhell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester, a withdrawn writer, decides to get into the Christmas spirit this year and buys a real Christmas tree. Unfortunately, the tree(s) doesn't last very long. Fortunately, the tree seller is really hot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ayyyy, Christmas tree puns! My favorite part of Christmas!

Dean rubs his hands together as he walks down the aisle of trees. It’s such a bitch to find one that will fit into his building’s elevator and doesn’t look like a glorified shrub. For the past few years, Dean has been so absorbed in finishing a book in time for the holiday rush that by the time he realized it was tree season, he had been too late to snag any good ones. He’s been hanging up the few ornaments he has on a fake tree that, honestly, is on its last leg. It’s due time for him to get back into the holiday spirit.

Dean passes a few people as he browses, all of them with young children practically skipping with happiness. It makes him feel bittersweet. The kids’ joy is contagious, but it reminds Dean of all the Christmases he spent in cheap motel rooms exchanging gas station gifts with his brother. If it was up to him, he would avoid the holiday season altogether, but Sam and Jess are coming over this year and he doesn’t want to disappoint Sam. Plus, he would prefer to not come off as a grumpy old man on his first time meeting Jess. 

After wandering through corridors of trees for about half and hour, Dean finally finds one small enough to fit in his apartment that is at least vaguely Christmas tree shaped. He writes the number on his phone and hikes back to the cashier’s station near the parking lot.

The figure inside is wrapped in what looks like at least two coats and three scarves, curling down around a steaming cup of coffee. He glances up with piercing blue eyes when Dean approaches, but doesn’t move otherwise.

“You look comfortable,” Dean says.

The man grunts and pulls the scarves down off his mouth, revealing plump chapped lips and a sharp jaw line that looks like it hasn’t seen a razor in about a week. 

Dean swallows. Loudly.

“Did you find a tree?” the man asks. At Dean’s nod, he pulls out a clipboard and motions for Dean to continue. Dean reads the tree’s number off his phone and the man flips through the papers until he finds the number and crosses it off. 

“That’ll be $35.” 

Dean’s gloved fingers brush against the man’s mitten as he hands him the money and a chill runs up his arm. His cheeks flush, which just makes him more embarrassed and he blushes more. He hopes it’s indistinguishable from his already cold-red cheeks. 

“Happy holidays,” Dean says when the man hands him his change. He looks up, pleasantly surprised, and a small smile spreads across his lips. A few butterflies flutter against Dean’s stomach.

“And you as well,” the man says. “Enjoy your tree.”

x

Halfway home, there’s a loud snap and a massive crash. Dean looks up just in time to see his brand new Christmas tree snap into six shattered pieces under the wheels of a semi in his rearview mirror. Very creatively strung together swears falls from Dean’s mouth as he swerves into the breakdown lane. The truck driver flips him off as he drives past.

“Shit,” Dean says, which he thinks sums up his predicament very well.

He gets out of his car and walks over to where the remains of his tree lie. By now, it’s just a collection of twigs and needles.

There are three options from here. Use his decrepit fake tree and buy more ornaments so Sam and Jess don’t notice the bald spots, drive half an hour one way to the next closest Christmas tree farm, or go back to Blue Eyes’ farm with a bad excuse on the tip of his tongue.

The next day, Dean finds himself sitting in the parking lot of the same tree farm, hands clutching the steering wheel so hard his knuckles are white.

This is ridiculous. He probably gets a hundred people each day. There’s no way Blue Eyes will remember him. Seriously, he looked almost half asleep when Dean paid for his tree. 

Dean finds a tree quicker this time, but he stalls for as long as he possibly can to avoid paying for it. He inspects the tree from every angle, measures it, cleans the needles from his gloves and jacket, and measures it again. By the time he finally works up the courage to walk up to the hut, his fingertips are numb. 

Blue Eyes looks up with a neutral expression and Dean relaxes, realizing he doesn’t remember him. Then, a smirk wider than the fucking Mississippi stretches his lips and he sits up.

“Back again?”

“Yeah.” Dean shoves his hands in his pockets. “My tree, uh, fell off.. my… car…” 

“Of course,” Blue Eyes says. “I see.”

Dean pays for the tree and is one hundred percent ready to slink away and hide in a hole somewhere, but Blue Eyes clears his throat before Dean can make a break for it.

“Do you have someone to help you get it on the car?” he asks. “Girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

“Neither,” Dean says, “but I got it up last time by myself. I think I can do it again.”

“Alone for the holidays?” the man shakes his head, but his eyes are smiling. “What a shame.”

Dean shrugs. “Had a bad breakup a while back, haven’t really gotten back in the game since.”

“You should.” Castiel’s eyes quickly- but obviously- rake up and down Dean’s body and he’s grinning when he makes eye contact again. “I’m sure you’d be surprised at how easily it comes back to you. Like riding a bike.”

“I’ll think about it,” Dean says, returning the smile, if somewhat shyly. Sam always tells him he transforms into a preteen girl when a guy flirts with him. He’s starting to think Sam is right.

“Castiel,” the man says, holding out his hand.

“Dean.” He grasps Castiel’s hand in his own and feels the thrill of physical contact curl around his spine despite the gloves separating their palms. “Nice to meet you.”

“Indeed,” Castiel says, the grin faded but still there. “Enjoy the tree. Don’t drop it this time.”

Dean flushes. “Yeah. Thanks.”

x

The second tree makes it home. An immense feeling of relief floods Dean when it’s set up in his living room, all nice and Christmasy in the corner. In fact, he’s in such a good mood that he hums along to the carols on the radio as he rigs up the net of lights he got on sale a few days ago. When he was thirteen, his family stayed in a cabin for the last few weeks of December and there was already a small tree in it complete with white and red ornaments and lights. He remembers the lights illuminating the room at night and in the morning, there were actual wrapped presents under the tree. He knows it was just because Dad hit a bar filled with men so drunk they could barely hold up their cards, let alone keep a poker face long enough to win a penny, but ever since lights have always meant Christmas for Dean. 

The lights prove more difficult to attach to the tree than he imagined, but it’s worth it. As soon as he’s done, Dean shuts off the lamp and flicks on the lights, grinning when they bathe his living room in a warm glow.

Not two seconds after he’s turned them on the lights fizzle and crackle, emitting a horrible zapping noise. 

“No,” Dean whispers. There’s an awful crack, then a spark, and then Dean’s living room is flooded with light from the miniature pine-scented bonfire in the corner. The smoke alarm screams and with a click, the sprinklers turn on and douse everything.

But they don’t turn on fast enough to save the tree. Dean stands there, drenched, staring at the bare and scorched skeleton of his tree so long that the fire department arrives and has turned off the sprinklers by the time he moves. Even then, it’s only to strip off his wet clothes, change into new ones, and head to the motel down the road and let his landlord deal with the firemen. 

The next morning, Dean marks a day on his calendar next week to go back to the tree farm. 

x

There’s nothing he can do this time except walk right up to the booth with his head hanging in shame.

“What was it this time?” Castiel asks. 

“The lights,” Dean mutters. “They set my tree on fire.”

Castiel snorts and shakes his head. “$25.”

Dean frowns. Granted, this tree is a little bit shabbier than the other two, but it’s still in the $35 section. 

“Not $35?”

“I’ve decided to implement a ‘buy three get ten dollars off rule.’”

“Thanks,” Dean says dryly. 

“I’m sure you’ll be back. You can make up the ten dollars to me some other time,” Castiel says. One of his eyebrows quirks up promisingly. 

“Oh, I, uh-... Okay, I guess,” Dean stammers. Fuck, Sam is right. He is a preteen girl. 

“Good luck,” Castiel says. He folds Dean’s receipt in half and hands it to him. “You need it.”

x

Dean doesn’t even know how it happened this time. One minute he was trying to get his tree into his apartment and the next, he was holding the top half of it and looking at the other half lying on the floor. 

This time, he waits two weeks to go back. The route is so familiar to him by now that he’s there before he can blink. Of course, all the good trees are gone, but he manages to find one that’s as tall as him and only has two bald spots. The branches are kind of scraggly and uneven and he feels a little too much like Charlie Brown for his liking when he copies down the number, but it’s the best he can do a week before Christmas. 

An embarrassed but insuppressible smile splits Dean’s face as he walks up to the shack, but it drops away like a stone when he catches a glimpse of long brown hair and red lipstick. 

“Hi,” the girl in the shack says. When Dean doesn’t respond, she snaps her fingers a few times. “Hello? Anyone home?”

“Who’re you?” Dean blurts. 

“Meg,” the girl responds. “Who’re _you_?”

“Dean.”

“Ah. The “unlucky” customer.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “Why the air quotes?”

“Come on.” Meg rolls her eyes. “We both know you’re only here because you want to bang Castiel. Your sexual chemistry stinks up the entire place. It’s disgusting.”

“What?” Dean says. This time, he _knows_ his blush is noticeable.

“Oh please. Your tree falling off the car I can see, but the lights setting it on fire? You couldn’t come up with a better excuse?”

“I-”

“I just don’t understand why you spent so much money. You could’ve gotten better results with cheap eggnogg and some mistletoe. I mean, he gave you his number and everything.”

Oh, god. Dean’s stomach does some seriously impressive acrobatics. “...He did?”

“Yeah.” Meg frowns. “He was pretty bummed when you didn’t call, too. I’m judging you for that. I personally don’t care, but his bad moods affect tips even more than his usual pent-up sexual frustration.”

“He gave me his number?” Dean repeats “When? More importantly, how?”

“Men,” Meg sighs. “He wrote it on your receipt, you dipshit. I was across the parking lot and _I_ saw it, for fuck’s sake.”

“Oh,” Dean says. “Fuck.”

“Well you could’ve if you actually called him. You’d probably be going at it like rabbits by now. Dude needs to get laid.” 

“Do you know his number?”

Meg snorts. “Nope. We work together over the holiday, but it’s not like we get together every Saturday for drinks and strip poker.”

“You have no way to contact him?”

“Nope. His shifts are over for the season.” Meg leans around Dean and eyes the line growing behind him. “Listen, are you going to buy a tree or not? You’re blocking traffic.”

Dean pays for his tree and leaves, a vague feeling of disappointment hollowing out his stomach.

x

The tree doesn’t fall off his car. The new lights don’t explode. The trunk doesn’t snap. All in all, the tree goes up without difficulty. Dean loads it up with too many candy canes for three people to eat and a box of ornaments he found cleaning out Dad’s storage locker. They distract him from the strange emptiness in his stomach for awhile. Sorting through them brings back half-memories of baking cookies and hanging up stockings. A few of the ornaments are old, faded foam things Dean obviously made in kindergarten: reindeer with an eye or nose missing and candy canes with uneven stripes. 

He hangs them on the front of the tree. 

Sam and Jess arrive with armfuls of presents and food, trailing the smell of gingerbread and cinnamon. Jess gives him a big hug and tells him how glad she is to meet him and maybe she chose the wrong Winchester brother cause _damn_. 

She feels right for Sam, or as right as any girl can feel for his Sammy. 

After presents they sit on the couch, Dean with a beer and Sam and Jess with tea, and watch the bad Christmas specials that all seem to blur together. Jess falls asleep with her head on Sam’s lap and Sam’s hand on her hair.

“She’s good for you,” Dean says.

“I know,” Sam replies. Cheesy, tv-special carols play in the background. “What’s on your mind?”

“What do you mean?”

“You haven’t made one sexual innuendo all night,” Sam says with a smirk. “I know we’re getting old but come on, what happened?”

Dean thumbs the lip of his beer bottle and takes a swig before replying. “There was… a guy.”

“Do you regret it?”

Dean punches Sam lightly on the shoulder. “We didn’t _do_ anything!”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Dean.”

Dean grunts and takes a few minutes to answer. When he does, it’s a mumbled, “Yes.”

Sam rolls his eyes and checks his phone. “It’s ten o’clock on Christmas night.”

“...Yeah?”

“So why aren’t you doing anything about it? Riding off into the sunset?”

“ _How_?” Dean snaps. “I accidently threw out his number and only know his first name and where he worked.”

Sam shrugs. “Anything is better than moping around like a teenage girl. It’s Christmas. Miracles can happen.”

Dean looks at his hands, then at the TV, then Sam. “I-...”

Sam nods. “Go. Woo your mystery man. We’ll be fine. I know how to pull out the couch.”

Dean is out the door with his coat half buttoned before Sam even finishes his sentence, reciting the directions to the tree farm in his head.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Perhaps you have a present for me?” Castiel all but whispers. “Something to do with the mistletoe?”   
> (aka super cheesy Christmas sex because everyone loves super cheesy Christmas sex)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THIS IS 100% NOT PROOFREAD. I WROTE IT AND POSTED IT. IT IS PROBABLY FULL OF MISTAKES. READ AT YOUR OWN GRAMMATICAL RISK

Dean reaches the Christmas tree farm in record time. He almost forgets to take the key out of the ignition and lock the door because he’s in such a rush. 

The farm is dark, lit only by a few floodlights and some wayward Christmas lights. Snowflakes, illuminated by the floodlights, drifts lazily down to the ground and layers everything with a fine blanket of pure white. 

The stillness is eerie. 

Dean walks up and the aisles of trees, peering around branches as if Castiel will be hiding behind them. He wants to call out, but the silence is too thick to be broken. 

He ambles the farm until his toes are numb and his nose feels like it has frozen off his face. He wants to go home and curl up with a thick blanket and cup of hot coffee to nurse his bruised pride, but a small sliver of hopes keeps him tramping up and down the rows of trees over footprints he’s already made.

After what must be an hour any hope that was keeping Dean there is long frozen over. Sniffling, he tucks his hands under his arms and stalks back to his car. 

Dean’s finger can barely grasp the key hard enough to turn the car on. He sits there for a few minutes to thaw his hands over the heater and let the engine heat up. Each second he idles makes the sour taste in the back of his throat that comes with loss grow stronger.

Another car pulls into the parking lot, driving snow on the slippery road. Dean watches in his rearview mirror as a redhead wearing only a thin coat over her dress climbs out of the car and hurries to the cashier shack. She quickly unlocks it and steps inside.

Dean sits up, hope blossoming in his stomach again. If this girl has a key to the cashier shack, she might know how he can contact Castiel. It’s a long shot, but he’s desperate.

The woman opens the door to the shack with a confused looks on her face when Dean knocks.

“Um… hi?” she says. 

“Hey,” Dean says. 

“Can I… help you?”

“Yeah. Do you know Castiel? He worked here for awhile.”

The woman raises an eyebrow and her eyes skim very obviously up and down his body. “Maybe. Why do you ask?”

“I’ve been trying to contact him for awhile.”

“About what?”

Dean’s cheeks redden. “That’s not of your business.”

The woman crosses her arms now, foot propping the door open. “It sure as hell is. I’m his older sister.”

Dean’s cheeks get impossible redder. 

The woman sighs. “You’re Dean, aren’t you?”

“That’s me.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard all about you.” She slides the sleeve of her coat up and checks the time on her watch. “Cassie’s phone will be long dead by now. If you want to talk to him, you’re going to have to follow me back.”

“Back _where_?”

The redhead looks at him like he’s just asked the stupidest question in the history of stupid questions. “The family Christmas party.”

Oh, fuck. Dean’s skipped the movie dates and walks in the park and gone right to meeting the parents. He doesn’t think he’s actually emotionally stable for this. 

Castiel’s sister grabs something from the shack then closes and locks it behind her. She rushes back to her car and leaves Dean no choice but to get into his own and wait for her to leave the parking lot.

The drive is relatively short, but Dean’s guts decide to take advantage of that time and rearrange themselves into a pulsing knot. He’s more nervous than he’s been in his entire life, but within the mess of nervousness are hints of excitement. He pictures a low lit room and cheeks rosy with three glasses of eggnog and doorways adorned with mistletoe. He pictures wide eyes so blue they glow as their owner backs Dean up until he’s standing directly under the doorway with the most mistletoe and-...

Dean’s torn from his daydream as the redhead’s car screeches as it peels around the corner and turns into an almost-hidden driveway marked only by an old wooden mailbox. He slams on the brakes and throws his car into reverse, easing Baby gently into the driveway. Overgrown branches squeal along the sides of the car and Dean winces, thinking of his months-new paint job. 

Dean is beginning to think the redhead is leading him to certain death in the middle of nowhere when they turn around an even sharper corner than before and Dean is rendered breathless.

It can’t be a house. It just can’t be. It’s bigger than some hotels Dean has stayed in. There’s even a fucking valet service. The whole thing is made of darkly stained wood and shines from within with what looks like hundreds of real, flickering candles in the windows. Dean can’t help but drop his jaw as he pulls up to the front door behind the redhead.

A kid, no older than eighteen, steps up to him. “Would you like me to park your car, sir?” 

“No thanks,” Dean says. He’s heard too many horror stories about joyrides and dented doors. 

“He can park behind me,” Castiel’s sister says. 

The valet smiles and nods. “Of course, Ms. Novak.”

She pulls up beside the house in a five car garage and gestures for Dean to do the same. He takes off his jacket and folds it on the passenger’s seat, not wanting it to get lost inside the monster of that house. 

“It’s probably going to be hard to find him,” the redhead says once both their cars are off. “Most of the rooms in this old dump are closed during the year, but Cassie opens them up for the party. He likes to show off.”

The interior of the house is even more impressive. It’s decorated with antique furniture and thick persian carpets that make a shuffling noise with every step Dean takes. There’s a winged armchair everywhere he looks. The decor of one room alone must have cost more than Dean’s whole apartment and his car. 

The redhead leads him to a set of heavy wooden doors and goes to open them, but then turns back to Dean with a frown.

“Hm,” she hums. It’s a condescending hum.

“What now?”

“You’re not dressed to impress,” she sniffs. “This is a black tie event. You’ll stick out like a sore thumb in… that.”

Dean glances down at his outfit, his usual worn jeans and flannel, when she flops a hand dismissively at it.

“I’m not here to mingle,” he says defensively, feeling a little offended on behalf of his plaid. “I just want your brother’s fucking number.”

The redhead sighs. It’s a long, drawn out noise of exasperation. “Alright. But here, at least put this on.”

She opens a nearby closet and pulls out a brown tweed jacket that looks older than Dean is. It smells of mothballs.

“No,” Dean says. This is where he puts his foot down. “Absolutely not.”

The woman shakes her head and sighs again. “ _Men_ ,” she says, disgruntled. After rummaging around for another few seconds, she pulls out a leather jacket. 

There’s a refusal on the tip of his tongue, but Dean swallows it. He snatches the jacket from her grasp and reluctantly trades it for his flannel. Not bad, he thinks as he shrugs it on. Actually, it’s kind of his style. And comfy, even if it smells slightly musty.

Castiel’s sister nods approvingly. “If you weren't already smitten with Cassie, I’d claim you myself. Now come on, let’s find my dear old brother.”

She shoves open the double doors and strides in bursting with confidence. Nearby heads turn and greetings are thrown in her direction. Within seconds, her coat has been taken and she’s been offered multiple dances, though she declines each one. Dean suddenly realizes that she’s just as beautiful as Castiel with the same high cheekbones and full pink lips. Unlike her brother, though, she has hazel eyes, but Dean can see hints of that unearthly blue in them. 

The redhead’s dress sways as she walks and the hundreds of sequins that line it shimmer attractively in the low light. Men and women alike try to stop her to talk, but she brushes them all off.

“He’s probably in the dining hall,” she says to Dean. “Unless he’s already taken refuge in the library. 

The dining hall is a hit and a miss, though Dean does get backed into a corner by a tall British man whose breath reeks of wine. The redhead drives him off with one scathing look.

“Balthazar,” she says, warning clear in her tone. “This is Dean.”

Balthazar looks blankly between the two of them a few times before it clicks.

“Deeeeean,” he slurs. “How _wonderful_ to meet you. Cassie was right, you do have a great ass.”

“Goodbye, Balthazar,” the redhead snaps. She drags Dean away from the reeling drunk man and up a set of creaking stairs. 

It’s quieter up here away from the party. The furniture is less extravagant, too. Here, cushions are worn and the carpet is thin. The woman leads him down a series of winding hallways until they reach a room three times the size of Dean’s apartment.

“Cassie?” she calls into it, voice echoing. “Are you in here?”

“I’m coming,” a familiar gravelly voice calls back. Dean’s pulse skyrockets. 

Castiel comes around the corner, a thick book in his hands and a smile on his face.

“Anael!” he smiles. “I wasn't expecting you to arrive so earl-...” he trails off and his eyes flick to Dean. “Dean?”

“I found him wandering around the tree farm,” Anael says. “Merry Christmas. Now I’m going to salvage the party you let go to shit downstairs.”

She leaves with a swish of her blue dress and a flip of fiery hair. Dean turns his eyes to Castiel and finds him staring right back, eyes narrowed.

 

“...Dean?” he repeats. 

“I threw out your number,” Dean blurts out, then hastily adds, “by accident.”

Castiel’s shoulders relax and a small smile tugs at his lips. “Oh.”

“Yup.” Dean shoves his hands in his pockets. Now that he’s here, he doesn’t know what to say. I’ve been obsessing over you for a week? I’ve dreamt of you? I want to date you even though I’ve actually been in your presence for less than fifteen minutes?

Castiel carefully slips a bookmark into his book and sets it aside, stepping forward. “You look good in leather.”

“And you look good in…” Dean takes in the stylish black suit Castiel is wearing and the blue tie hanging loose around his neck, so different from the huge parka Dean is used to. “That.”

Castiel takes another step forward. “You know,” he says. “It’s Christmas.”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “I do happen to know that.”

Another step. “And I haven’t gotten a present yet.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” Castiel says. Two steps this time. Now he’s close enough for Dean to see the faint wrinkles around his eyes causes from too much squinting. 

“That’s, uh, too bad.”

“Very bad indeed.” Dean can count his long eyelashes now. “I’m used to getting what I want.”

A warm hand slides under the leather jacket and tugs Dean’s hip, sending him stumbling into Castiel’s chest. They’re almost eye to eye, but Castiel stands a half an inch taller than Dean’s eyes are drawn to those chapped lips. 

“Perhaps you have a present for me?” Castiel all but whispers. “Something to do with the mistletoe?”

Dean’s head snaps up and sure enough, bunches of fresh mistletoe hang from the arched ceiling above them. It’s not exactly like his daydream, but he’s not picky. 

Castiel’s other hand comes up to cup his jaw and trace the seam of his lips with a soft thumb. Dean’s breath catches in his throat and Castiel’s smile widens. 

“You’ve come so far to give it to me after all,” Castiel says and this time he does whisper, but Dean can hear him just fine. He can feel the words leave Castiel’s lips and break against his own, feel the warm puffs of breath from his nose and the beat of his head in his hand. 

“Yeah,” Dean manages to murmur, and then the gap between their mouths is gone and their lips are sliding together. One of Dean’s hand somehow ends up tangling in Castiel’s hair and the other grasps his tie like a lifeline. 

From one moment to the next, the sweet, chaste kiss turns hot and filthy and Castiel’s tongue is in his mouth, quick and dexterous like his hands as he tugs the jacket from Dean’s shoulders. Castiel reaches around Dean to close and lock the doors of the library as Dean blindly fumbles with the knot on his tie, trying to take it off and maintain the kiss at the same time. Castiel is soon frustrated with his clumsy fingers and rips it off himself, tossing it to the floor alongside Dean’s jacket. 

“Fuck,” Dean gasps when Castiel bites his jaw.

“Yes,” Castiel hisses and kisses down his neck. He pulls and shoves Dean until they fall together on a cushioned window seat at the other end of the library, shedding clothes the whole way. There’s only a few layers of clothing between them now, boxers and Castiel’s unbuttoned dress shirt, and they’re dotted with patches of sweat.

Castiel thrusts his hips down to grind their erections together and Dean breaks the kiss to throw his head back and gulp much needed air as he tries to match Castiel’s pace. Castiel takes advantage of this position to suck dark marks on Dean’s neck, ending with mouthing at the spot just below Dean’s ear. A moan is drawn from the depth of Dean’s throat when Castiel bites there. It’s always been a sensitive spot for him and now is no exception. 

While Castiel distracts himself with the spot where Dean’s neck meets his shoulder, Dean tugs at their remaining clothes. He finally manages to get Castiel’s shirt off (they both ignore the rip of a torn seam somewhere when Dean tears it from Castiel’s arms) and pull their boxers down to their knees. The skin and skin contact sparks shivers that run up and down Dean’s body and he turns his face into Castiel’s hair, mouth falling open in a silent and continuous gasp. 

Castiel wraps a long-fingered hand around both of them and strokes them together, squeezing his eyes shut and leans forward for a kiss that devolves until they’re both just breathing against each other’s mouths. Dean whines when Castiel rubs a thumb around their heads to spread precome and reduce friction. It’s just enough to get rid of the chaff and burn, but Dean wants more. 

He grabs for Castiel’s other hand, the one he’s bracing himself on above Dean’s shoulder, and pulls it towards his mouth. Castiel intently watches Dean’s movements and catches on quickly, pushing his index finger into Dean’s mouth. A low moan falls from Castiel’s lips when Dean sucks hard and swirls his tongue around his finger just like he would his dick.

Castiel’s breathing heavier than before when Dean pulls his finger from his mouth and guides it down below his legs. Castiel’s eyes widen and he glances down at where Dean is leading him, the stroke of his hand all but stopping. 

“Touch me, Cas,” Dean whispers. 

Castiel licks his lips and presses his spit-slicked finger against Dean’s hole, just enough to feel it flutter against him. Dean grinds against the pressure until Castiel slips it in. He’s completely stopped stroking their dicks and now uses his hand to pull one of Dean’s legs over his shoulder and hold his thigh. 

Dean can feel him searching for that spot, but he’s not deep enough and it’s getting dry again. He winces and shifts, making a noise of discomfort that makes Castiel’s finger disappear. 

“Wait here,” he says, like Dean would do any differently. He stands and tugs on his pants as he walks the unique walk of a man with a raging hard-on.

While Dean waits, he pulls his boxers completely off and rearranges the pillows on the window seat so they support all the necessary places. Sex is no fun when you get a back cramp.

Castiel comes back with a handful of condoms and a bottle of lube. Dean hums and spreads his legs as he approaches, wiggling out of his pants again and crawling onto the window seat on top of Dean. 

Castiel leans forward and catches Dean bottom lip between his teeth as he uncaps the lube and spreads it on his fingers. The first cold touch makes Dean jump, but after some rubbing of fingers its warmer and much easier than just spit.

It’s not until Castiel works his middle finger in beside the first that he hits the spot that makes Dean light up from the inside out. He jerks and cries out, the sound echoing around the big room.

“Again,” he breaths, wrapping his legs around Castiel’s neck to pull him closer. 

This time he’s prepared for it and he restrains himself, moaning quietly and curling his toes against Castiel’s shoulders. By the fourth finger, he’s coming apart at the seams and doesn’t think he’ll be able to last much longer.

“Now,” Dean groans. 

Castiel pulls his fingers from Dean’s body and rolls on a condom before spreading lube on himself. He pulls Dean’s legs up to rest on his shoulders and presses forward until he slips in.

Dean grunts and reaches for Castiel’s hand. “Slower.”

Castiel slows the forward grind of his hips until Dean motions for him to go faster, but even then his strokes are long and slow. A flush has crept up from his chest to redden his neck and face and his eyes seem more blue now than ever. He folds their fingers together and squeezes Dean’s hand.

“Dean,” Castiel whispers, then kisses him slow and sweet like he means something. 

Of course, nothing slow lasts for long and soon enough the slap of skin on skin quickens to a pace so fast Dean’s teeth rattle in his skull. Dean rakes his fingers down Castiel’s back and Castiel snarls and sucks another hickey into his neck and its glorious.

Dean is sure he won’t last long but apparently neither will Castiel. His rhythm begins to fall apart and he reaches between them to jerk Dean brutally hard and fast. He writhes under Castiel, not knowing whether to push forward into his hand or back onto his dick…

Dean comes first, his release splashing white and hot on his belly and he clutches at Castiel’s shoulders so hard he might draw blood. Castiel follows not long after, strokes going long and slow as he gasps through it.

Castiel collapses onto Dean when he’s done, panting like he just ran a marathon. Dean drops a kiss to the top of his head and pulls in deep lungfuls of air, letting the afterglow of great sex wash over him. 

A while later when Dean is halfway between sleep and consciousness, Castiel stands and wipes them down with a piece of clothing (his shirt?) and disposes of the condom before returning with a thick duvet. He curls against Dean’s back and spreads the blanket over them, nuzzling into the nape of Dean’s neck.

The last thing Dean remembers before falling asleep are the snowflakes drifting steadily past the window and the gentle rise and fall of Castiel’s chest.

**Author's Note:**

> Make sure to check out the rest of the 2014 Destiel Advent Calendar for a lot of cute fics, ficlets, and art!


End file.
